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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28671141">Superwholock- Broken Wings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/13capjacksparrow/pseuds/13capjacksparrow'>13capjacksparrow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Friendship and stuff, I’ll tag more when I know what tf is going on, people die??? But it’s spn so who knows, this is a mess honestly, usual violence and shit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:14:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28671141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/13capjacksparrow/pseuds/13capjacksparrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean hunt the Supernatural. They've seen a lot, but there's always been one thing they know for certain. Aliens do NOT exist. So how do they cope when one turns up in a magic blue box? Who are the ex-army medic and the stuck-up detective? And how do they rid themselves of a whole new kind of angel?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>But you can ship who you like, Everyone &amp; Everyone, Friendship - Relationship, a couple OC’s maybe but I don’t know yet, we’ll see I guess - Relationship, you can ship anyone I guess it’s interpretation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>BANG!</p><p>A gunshot echoed through the warehouse as the silver bullet sank into the werewolf's heart. It howled, pain thick in the monster's shriek. Dean rolled out of the way of the falling body, casting a glance around the room, the only illumination being the moonlight shining through the cracks in the wooden walls. Another man lunged at him, this one wearing a ski mask and definitely not a werewolf. He raised his gun and aimed.</p><p>Click.</p><p>The magazine shone in the light a few feet away, the bullets gleaming silver. Dean cursed, hands scrabbling behind him as he searched for a weapon, or a distraction at least. Smooth metal brushed against his fingertips.</p><p>"You're a fool, Dean Winchester. War is coming, and there's nothing you can do," the man hissed. It sprung forwards, and Dean swung the metal pole round to crack against its head sickeningly. It dropped to the floor limply. A strangled cry stole Dean's attention.</p><p>Sam was pinned to the floor, a werewolf's hands wrapped around his throat, eyes rolling back in his head. He was desperately trying to pull the hands away but his movements were becoming sluggish as he was deprived of air. His hands stopped scrabbling and fell to the floor.</p><p>"Sam!" Dean, screamed. He sprinted towards his magazine, sliding along the floor and scooping it up. He clicked it in, raised his gun and shot the werewolf in the head. It collapsed next to Sam, dark red pooling beneath it. Dean sprinted over and dropped into a crouch, shaking his brother by the shoulder. "Sam!" he hissed. "Sam! Wake up!" Dean's heart constricted as his brother remained motionless. "Sammy! Don't make me lick your face." Sam's eyes fluttered, and he groaned. A shaky sigh of relief escaped Dean's lips as Sam's eyes focused lazily on his.</p><p>He helped Sam up, slapping him on the back and checking him over. There was a gash on his forehead and along his shoulder, though neither seemed worthy of too much concern. Dean clapped a hand on the same shoulder, Sam gasping and glaring at his brother.</p><p>"Jerk," he mumbled.</p><p>"Bitch," Dean grinned, sticking his tongue out at him. Sam rolled his eyes and kicked the body with the ski mask.</p><p>"Who do you reckon this is, then?" he asked, glancing at his older brother.</p><p>"I don't know. My x-ray vision doesn't seem to work with balaclavas," Dean sassed, earning a glare from Sam.</p><p>"Funny," he replied sarcastically. "I'm laughing so hard." Dean held his hands up in mock surrender.</p><p>"Jeez... someone's moody! Is it your time of the month?" he asked, pouting with fake sympathy.</p><p>"Shut up," Sam snapped, leaning down and pulling off the mask. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The coroner? That's unexpected."</p><p>"Kinda makes sense though," Dean added. Sam nodded in agreement and stood.</p><p>"He did have all those baby teeth."</p><p>"And that policewoman seemed a bit obsessed with him."</p><p>"That's what you get when you pretend to be Jesus. It's just a shame Maria had to skip town. I could've got on that." Dean added. Sam looked disgusted. Dean winked, and glanced over at one of the bodies, frowning.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Nothing, it's just something the coroner said."</p><p>"What did he say?"</p><p>Dean shrugged. "Nothing important. Just the usual 'you're all gonna die' bullshit. Come on," he said. "Let's go. They'll be found soon, and we want to be far away when that happens." Dean pulled his car keys out his pocket as they slid into the Impala.</p><p>"Where to?" he asked, turning the ignition and smiling faintly as his baby rumbled to life.</p><p>"Let's just get back to the bunker," Sam answered, yawning and rubbing his head. Dean pulled out of the parking lot, and headed down the road.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. An Unexpected Visitor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean pulled into the bunker and the two brothers climbed out of the car, Dean locking the Impala before they headed into the living area.</p><p>"I'm telling you! Darth Vader could have beaten the Emperor easily!" Dean protested.</p><p>"Then how come he died doing it?" Sam questioned.</p><p>"To boost the ratings! Duh!" Dean answered, rolling his eyes. Sam scoffed.</p><p>"That's utter crap and you know it!" Sam retorted. "You just can't face the fact that the Emperor is harder than-" he cut off as a muffled thump echoed through the living area. The hunters drew their guns, creeping soundlessly towards the figure in the chair.</p><p>"Yaaaaa!" Dean tackled the man with a war cry, both of them falling to the ground. The man yelped in surprise, going still as Dean straddled him and held an angel blade to his throat.</p><p>"What are you doing?" the man yelled. Dean blinked.</p><p>"Cas?" his eyes widened and he got up off the angel, offering a hand up. Cas took it, glaring at Dean as he straightened his trench coat.</p><p>"Why did you assault me?" Cas asked.</p><p>"Sorry, man," Dean sheathed his  blade. "Didn't expect it to be you."</p><p>"Who else would it be?" Cas looked puzzled. Dean frowned for a moment.</p><p>"Huh... Good point. Why are you here?" Dean opened the fridge, handing a beer to Sam and Cas before closing the fridge and opening his own.</p><p>"I have a lead on some demons who are helping Asmodeous. I need your help capturing them. We can get information from them," the angel explained. Sam nodded.</p><p>"Come sit down. We can make a plan," the younger Winchester sat at the large oval table, Cas following suit. Dean remained standing, scrutinising his friend.</p><p>Cas seemed fine, but he had bags under his eyes and kept yawning. That was strange, since angels didn't get tired. He was thin too, his trench coat hanging off him. Dean furrowed his brow. Something here was definitely off.</p><p>"-even listening to me?" Dean tuned in as Sam finished his sentence, two pairs of eyes trained on him.</p><p>"Yeah..." Dean swigged from his bottle. Sam turned back to Cas.</p><p>"You okay? You seem kinda... deflated," he asked the shorter man.</p><p>"I'm fine, thank you Sam," the Seraph answered, but his yawn contradicted his words. Sam raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"Sure... look, why don't you get some sleep? We have plenty of rooms. Take one of the ones down the hall; it'll be near ours then." Sam pointed. Cas nodded sleepily.</p><p>"I suppose a few hours won't hurt..." he got up and headed down the hall, entering one of the rooms and closing the door behind him. Sam turned to Dean.</p><p>"What the hell's with that?" he asked his brother. Dean shrugged.</p><p>"How should I know?"</p><p>"Something seems off..." Sam glanced at Cas's closed door.</p><p>"Gee, thanks! I hadn't noticed!" Dean rolled his eyes.</p><p>"No need to be sarcastic, Dean," his brother scolded him.</p><p>"Whatever. I'm going to bed," Dean put his beer down, stretching, and turned to leave.</p><p>"What about Cas?" Sam stood up.</p><p>"What about him?" Dean carried on walking.</p><p>"Well, aren't we gonna find out what's wrong?" Sam jogged to catch up with his older brother.</p><p>"You know, why don't we just ask him?" Dean answered.</p><p>"Yeah, 'cause that's always ended so well in the past!" Sam muttered.</p><p>"No need to be sarcastic, Sam," Dean mimicked his brother's earlier statement.</p><p>"Shut up and go to bed," Sam snapped.</p><p>"Was planning to anyway," Dean called over his shoulder, entering his room and shutting the door behind him. He flopped onto his bed, sighing, and closed his eyes. He fell asleep instantly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Case</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Okay, so originally this was an spn fanfic, hence why there hasn't been any mention of the others yet. Yet. They'll be appearing in the next chapter or so. Please vote, leave comments etc. I just hope you enjoy the story</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was probably the sunlight filtering through his skylight that woke Sam up. Not the angel standing at the foot of his bed, watching him as he slept. But it was the Seraph that caused him to instinctively grab the knife from his bedside table and launch it at his friend's head. Sam was just lucky Cas had lightning reflexes.</p><p>He caught it mid air, the tip of the blade millimetres from his face. He looked at it curiously before setting it down on the dresser next to him. Sam winced.</p><p>"Sorry, Cas!" he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's up?" Cas looked confused.</p><p>"Many things are up", he pondered. "The sky, for instance."</p><p>"That's not what I- it's a saying, Cas."</p><p>"Oh," Cas looked slightly embarrassed. "I see."</p><p>"You know what, Cas, it doesn't matter. What do you want?" Sam  sighed as he pulled the covers off him. Swinging his legs out of bed, he stood, towering over the angel.</p><p>"Dean has a case," Cas answered simply, turning towards the door to leave. Sam followed, and they headed into the living area. Dean was sat at a table, flicking through a book, a fork in one hand. An empty plate was placed on the table next to him, a few crumbs and a smear of cream the only indication that there had been a piece of pie on it. He looked up as Sam came in.</p><p>"Cas got me pie," he grinned. Sam raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"That's... nice," he gestured at the book. "What's the case?" Dean slid a newspaper across the table.</p><p>"A woman was murdered in her home, and the police have no idea how. Doors and windows were locked from the inside. The only evidence they found was sulfur," he summarised. Sam looked up from the article.</p><p>"Demons?" he suggested.</p><p>"That's what I thought," he agreed. "Then I read the eyewitness accounts. Apparently, a blue box appeared out of nowhere just before the murder, and disappeared again just after."</p><p>"A blue box?" Sam repeated. "What kind of box?"</p><p>"Apparently it was some kind of old fashioned, British police call box," Dean answered. "I was thinking that maybe it was the British Men of Letters. I mean, they are psychos. Either way, it sounds like a case." Sam nodded.</p><p>"What are we waiting for?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Roofied</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Agents Dylan and Marley," Dean stated, flashing his badge. The officer raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"FBI? Haven't you got anything better to do?" she waved them in.</p><p>"Apparently not," Sam answered. The woman laughed.</p><p>Dean frowned. That wasn't even funny! He thought miserably. Sam always gets the good ones.</p><p>The crime scene was a mess- blood drenched the walls and floor, furniture was thrown across the room, and the body was ripped to pieces. Dean whistled.</p><p>"Hulk, smash!" he laughed. Sam frowned.</p><p>"What the hell is a 'Hulk'?" he muttered. Dean felt crushed. Not knowing who Hawkeye was, Dean could understand, since he was just a modern day Legolas. But the Hulk? Seriously?</p><p>"It's time, little brother, that you had a moviecation!" he answered solemnly. Sam stared at him.</p><p>"What the hell is a- actually, you know what? I don't want to know!" he turned back to the carnage before them, then crouched down. Yellow powder was scattered across the room. Sam sniffed it. "Sulfur," he confirmed, sneezing.</p><p>Dean inspected the room. He was surprised at the amount of blood there was. Crimson handprints were imprinted on the window. Dean glanced at them, then looked through the dirty window to see a blue smudge. A square blue smudge...</p><p>Dean sprinted out the house, Sam standing and following him without question. They rounded the corner, coming face to face with a vintage police box.</p><p>"Gotcha!" Dean grinned, walking towards it and pulling out his gun. Sam did the same and they crept towards the doors, crouching down in front of them. Dean silently counted down with his fingers, and they exploded into the box, careful not to smack into the wall opposite. Except, there was no wall opposite.</p><p>They gaped at the room before them. It was circular, with a glowing tube raised above a complicated console.</p><p>"Sam... I think we were roofied," Dean muttered. Sam shook his head.</p><p>"Not possible. We haven't eaten yet, or drank," he replied dazedly.</p><p>"So you're saying this is real?" Dean hissed back. Just then they heard footsteps, and a man rounded the console. He stopped when he saw the Winchesters.</p><p>"I hate guns," the man muttered. He was wearing a brown tweed suit and a bowtie, a red fez perched precariously on his head. He raised his voice cheerfully, a British accent colouring his words. "Hello! It's nice to meet you! I'm surprised you noticed the TARDIS! You must be very observant fellows!"</p><p>"What is this place? Who are you?" Dean demanded. The bowtie man smiled.</p><p>"I'm the Doctor."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Doctor What</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were a few moments of awkward silence as Sam and Dean looked unimpressed.</p><p>"Doctor what?" Sam asked eventually, lowering his gun slightly. The Doctor sighed.</p><p>"I prefer Doctor Who," the Doctor muttered, "but never mind. It's just the Doctor."</p><p>"Just the Doctor?" Dean repeated. "Cause that doesn't sound shady or anything. Now, what are you?" The 'Doctor' frowned.</p><p>"How did you know I'm not human?" he suddenly looked stern.</p><p>"What, you live in a flying blue box and appear at murders and expect us to believe you're human? Oh, and did I mention that your box has a frigging house inside it?" Dean answered, gesturing with the gun.</p><p>"I mean you no harm. The girl who was murdered, her name was Martha Smith. She was a... friend... of mine. Her husband Mickey said she was in trouble. I was too late. I couldn't save her..." The Doctor looked down, closing his eyes to keep his face impassive. Sam and Dean shared a glance before clicking the safety on and tucking their guns back in their jeans.</p><p>"Don't ask me why, but I believe you. Seriously, though. What are you?" Sam trained the Doctor with an unwavering gaze. The Doctor sighed.</p><p>"I'm a Time Lord. A Gallifreyan," he said.</p><p>"Is that supposed to mean something? What is that, a cult? What?" Dean asked </p><p>"I'm an... alien," the Doctor replied. The two hunters kept a straight face for a second or two, before doubling over with laughter. The Doctor looked startled.</p><p>"That's... new. No one's ever laughed before," he watched curiously.</p><p>"You're a... a..." Dean shook his head, incapable of speaking as fits of laughter racked his body. Sam straightened, brushing away a tear.</p><p>"Everyone knows aliens aren't real," he wheezed, gasping for air. "And even if you are, what do you do? Probe people?" There was a strangled noise as Dean started laughing anew.</p><p>"I most certainly do not!" The Doctor looked offended. "If you want proof, fine. Check my heart. I have two."</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes, disbelieving. He placed a hand over where a human heart would be. He then moved his hand, and the laughter left his face. He retracted his hand, retreating a few steps.</p><p>"Dean..." He said quietly. "He has two hearts." Dean straightened, his laughter forgotten.</p><p>"Seriously?" he stared at Sam as he nodded in confirmation. Dean sighed. "And I thought I'd seen it all."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Enter Mr Holmes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hey guys! What do you think? I know it's quite a short chapter, but this was really just to explain why they're going to America. Please comment! I've not had any so far, and it would mean a lot to me if someone did. Feel free to be brutally honest, as long as it's constructive criticism. Love you guys</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Boring... boring... boring... obvious... boring..." Sherlock scrolled through cases on his laptop, trying to find something of interest. John pulled out a newspaper, sinking gratefully into his chair with a steaming cup of tea.</p><p>"You know, you could always take a break," he suggested to his roommate. "You know, go on holiday?" Sherlock turned off the laptop, rolling his eyes and standing up.</p><p>"Why would I do that?" he snapped, sorting through the letters on the mantle. John sipped his tea, wincing as the hot liquid burned his tongue.</p><p>"I don't know, to try a new case? Go somewhere new? Get out of the flat?" he answered, gesturing at their small apartment.</p><p>"And where would I go?" Sherlock picked up a handgun, examining it. John shrugged.</p><p>"I don't know..." he caught sight of an article in the newspaper, quickly reading it. "How about America?"</p><p>"America. Is. Boring," Sherlock enunciated each word with a gunshot, the yellow smiley face on the wall gaining more bullet holes. John jumped, spilling his tea.</p><p>"Bloody hell," he muttered, setting the mug on a side table and using the newspaper to mop up the spillage. He sighed.</p><p>"I was reading an article in 'World News'. Apparently a woman was murdered inside a locked apartment. No evidence except for traces of sulfur. Also, it says an old-fashioned police box was seen at the time of the crime, and two FBI agents disappeared while examining the scene. The agents turned out to be fakes," he explained. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"That sounds... Interesting," he decided. "John, pack your bags. We're going to America."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Getting the Squad Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean stumbled towards the doors, desperate to get out the TARDIS before his stomach emptied itself. He burst outside, gulping in the cold night air. Sam followed, more composed, but still slightly green.</p><p>"That was... fun," he smiled weakly. The Doctor followed, looking apologetic.</p><p>"I'm sorry, boys. That's never happened before. The TARDIS has never-" he was interrupted by Dean heaving.</p><p>"Please, just don't ever mention it again," Sam begged. The Doctor nodded as Dean straightened, glaring at the blue box.</p><p>"It's been exactly seventeen hours and thirty seven minutes since you left," the Doctor stated, checking his internal clock. Sam glanced at the bunker door.</p><p>"Why don't we go inside? We can get something to eat," Sam suggested, and they all trudged inside. Dean sank gratefully into a chair, the Doctor sitting on another. Sam passed round beers and slices of pie, and soon the trio were feeling refreshed.</p><p>"So, your friend," Dean turned to the Doctor. "Any idea what killed her." The Doctor hesitated before shaking his head. Sam raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"Lying isn't going to help, you know," Sam reminded him. The Doctor hesitated.</p><p>"I don't know," he said more firmly. Dean's eyes narrowed.</p><p>"We know you're lying. Just tell us what-" Dean was cut off as the bunker door swung inwards with a bang, and two men appeared at the balcony, training guns on them. Sam, Dean, and the Doctor raised their hands.</p><p>The men descended the stairs. The shorter one had grey-blonde hair and intelligent eyes. He carried the gun comfortably, obviously having used one multiple times.</p><p>The taller one had curly black hair and bright blue eyes, which darted round the room and seemed to notice everything.  He was wearing a long black trench coat. He fixed them with a cold stare as he reached the bottom of the stairs.</p><p>"Who are you?" Dean demanded.</p><p>"This is John Watson," the taller man answered with a British accent, gesturing at the other man. "I'm Sherlock Holmes."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Deductions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Is that meant to mean something to me?" the leather clad man asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Americans, he thought exasperatedly, they're so slow.</p><p>John kept his gun trained on them, a look of disbelief plastered on his face.</p><p>"You've seriously never heard of Sherlock Holmes?" he looked incredulous. "He's the most famous dick there is! And he saves people!"</p><p>Sherlock, however, was not very surprised. They clearly didn't leave America often. Except for that strangely dressed one. He travelled a lot. Sherlock cleared his throat.</p><p>"Put the gun down, John. These people aren't a threat," he decided. John visibly relaxed as he clicked his safety back on and stowed the gun in the waistband of his jeans.</p><p>"So, who are you?" the tall one demanded.</p><p>"I told you. Sherlock Holmes. I'm a consulting detective for Scotland Yard," Sherlock answered. Bowtie frowned.</p><p>"Then why are you in America?" he asked politely, a British accent colouring his voice. At last, someone intelligent.</p><p>"We saw an article about a murder over here. London was getting boring, so we decided it might be less boring to solve cases somewhere new. I saw camera footage of you arriving, and just waited for facial recognition to pick you up. It did, a few miles away, and then we tracked you here," Sherlock shrugged. "It was easy."</p><p>"And you just decided to trust us?" the tall one frowned.</p><p>"I know enough about you to realise you won't hurt us," Sherlock responded.</p><p>"You don't know anything about us," leathers protested. John groaned.</p><p>"I know both your parents are dead, and that the taller man there is your younger brother. I know that you two just met bowtie over there, and that you turned up at that crime scene to help. You haven't had easy lives, always looking over your shoulder and moving from one motel to the next. You grew up around weapons and learned to fight at an early age. You have a friend who sometimes visits, but never for very long. However, you hold him in high regard and never hesitate to ask him when you need help. Am I missing anything?" Sherlock remained expressionless.</p><p>"How the hell..." long hair breathed.</p><p>"How did you know all that?" leathers asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.</p><p>"The jacket you're wearing is worn and tattered, showing you wear it a lot, but you haven't thrown it away so I'm guessing sentimental value. It's a size too big, so it must be 'inherited', I'm guessing from your father. The fact you wear his jacket shows that you miss him, most likely because he's dead. No one would hold that much value in a jacket otherwise. Your attachment to the jacket indicates that your father raised you single handedly, yet you are not bitter so your mother didn't leave. She died.</p><p>You automatically place yourself in front of your brother when new factors are added, showing your protectiveness. You don't stand close enough to bowtie to be comfortable with him, so not friends. Acquaintances.</p><p>You both stand in a defensive stance, as if constantly expecting trouble. This means you would move around a lot to stay out of trouble. Our guns didn't faze you, so you're comfortable around them, which suggests familiarity. Which means you learned to defend yourself early on. Probably to avoid that trouble you're running from.</p><p>There are three chairs pulled away from the table, showing three people have recently sat there. Two are worn considerably, but the third isn't as used. You two like routine, so would sit in the same chairs. The third one means an extra friend. The closeness of the chairs shows affection, but the third isn't close enough to indicate family.</p><p>Do you understand now?" Sherlock smirked.</p><p>Dean punched him in the face.</p>
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